


That Which Heals The Most

by phoenix_cry



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hospitals, Mentions of Cancer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 23:10:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenix_cry/pseuds/phoenix_cry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted as a short drabble on tumblr. </p><p>Myka fights with the side effects of her cancer treatment, when she gets a unexpected helping hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Which Heals The Most

**Author's Note:**

> Of all the tags I saw people add to this, I actually had to grin happily when someone called this "the fluffiest fic I read in weeks." I guess I can book that as an accomplishment, right?

 

 

 

“The nausea will probably set in in a few moments, Miss Bering,” the nurse told her gently, as Myka watched the clear fluid drop from the bag hanging above her head into the tube leading through a needle into her arm. Myka just nodded numbly, already too familiar with the procedure.

The dull hospital room had slowly but surely become her second home over the past few weeks. The treatment to combat her cancer had been gruesome and had already taken a toll on Myka’s body. Whereas Myka had been adamant to make the trip to the hospital alone during the first week, she soon had to accept that even getting into her car, much less make the trip home, was nearly impossible after the chemicals in her body had started doing their work.

Now, Pete, or somebody else from her warehouse family, had to drive her and accompany her up into her ( _it wasn’t hers, per se, but it might as well be, she thought bitterly_ ) hospital room, waiting for her to finish her treatment. After, they basically had to carry her to the car, her legs barely able to support her weight. She drew the line at having them in the room with her, however. She wasn’t even sure why, but she guessed it was because she felt this matter was so utterly private. Her body was being destroyed and fought over on a chemical and biological level and there was nothing she could do about it; she didn’t want them to see her anymore helpless than she already was.

Sighing, Myka closed her eyes and leaned against the white cushion at her back, as the first wave of dizziness washed over her. Breathing in through her nose and out of her mouth, she tried to fight back the nauseating feeling that she knew was following right after.

She could already feel her hands starting to sweat hotly, and cold sweat start spreading over her neck and down her back. Shifting uncomfortably, her brows furrowed and she tried to breath more deeply, wishing she had brought an audio book to distract her. She had tried reading during her first couple of sessions, but soon had to admit defeat. The words had swam before her eyes and the nausea had been even stronger with her eyes open, making it even more impossible to ignore.

Wringing her hands, where they were resting on her stomach, she was so occupied with keeping from retching into the bucket beside her bed, that she nearly missed the sound of the door opening. She badly wanted to open her eyes and check who was there, but for the life of her, she couldn’t bring herself to do it, for fear of embarrassing herself even further, in her – what she thought to be – humiliating situation.

Her visitor did not speak at first, did not utter a greeting, or an excuse for disturbing her.

Myka just heard a chair being pulled up to the bed, and the person settling down into it. Then she heard, what she believed to be, the crinkling of the pages of a book.

A moment later, a voice she had not heard in far too long - a voice she had thought never to hear again – washed over her.

Myka smiled as Helena started reading.

_The Time Traveller (for so it will be convenient to speak of him) was expounding a recondite matter to us. His grey eyes shone and twinkled, and his usually pale face was flushed and animated. The fire burned brightly, and the soft radiance of the incandescent lights in the lilies of silver caught the bubbles that flashed and passed in our glasses…_

And for a while, Myka forgot all about cancer, and poison, and chemicals, and war, and dying, and simply relished her favorite author reading her favorite story to her.

_fin_


End file.
